Crazy Eyes
by kotobaka
Summary: Photography is his outlet. Now he wants to use it to keep John close, even when it seems like his bro is slipping away. Dave/John bromance


Okay, some more Dave/John bromance for y'all. I love these two so much, their bromance knows no bounds. This was written for a prompt on Tumblr and I thought I'd share it here. This is what I come up with at 3 AM when I really should be sleeping. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><span>Crazy Eyes<span>

_Click_.

There's never a boring moment with him. He's always doing _something_.

_Click._

You just want to capture every second of it. Your life here. _Both_ your lives here. His smile, his little dance across the room to avoid all the cords as he rushes to answer the phone, the way he always makes sure to fill his cereal bowl exactly to the top to get the maximum nutrition or whatever shit he rationalizes it with. It's not annoying shit, though. It's adorable shit.

_Click._

You're not one to be sentimental. It's really not a cool thing to do, flipping your shit like an Olympic gymnast about every little thing he does, even just the little everyday things. You're just so glad he's here. Here with _you_, of all people. You two moved out to this city to start fresh, but sometimes you think you see flashes of regret in his brilliant blue eyes. He holds the phone a fraction too tight when his dad calls to check up on him.

_Click._

You're not worried he'll leave. That's bullshit. The bills will still get paid, you'll stay afloat. You'd finally get the futon all to yourself. Hypothetically, of course; Egbert's not leaving, he's really trying to make it work here with that job at the video rental store down the street. You wouldn't miss his muttering in his sleep in the middle of the night or the way he curls up in the blankets so you're stuck with pulling out an extra sheet for cover. He… needs protecting. That's what bros do, protect each other. You don't need it, of course, it's just him. Like that time he almost handed over half his paycheck to that homeless guy on the way home because the guy guilted him into it. He needs you there—to watch out for him. But now you're not so sure who needs whom.

_Click_.

"Dave? What're you doing?"

Shit. He caught you. You snap a pic anyway.

He gets up from his half finished bowl of cereal and comes over. Damn it. "Taking pictures?"

You drop the camera and let it hang around your neck like some incriminating weapon. "Nothing special."

He smiles that dopey grin that never gets old. "Lemme see!"

"It sucks balls."

"Yeah right, since when did your photography suck," he says, grabbing at the camera. You push him away a little, but it's so half-assed it would've made Bro cry manly tears of shame. What's the point in hiding all this bullshittery from him, anyway, he already thinks you're pretty weird. Which you are. Not that you give a fuck.

He flips through the pictures slowly. You're not about to stand around waiting for him to finish, and go over to the kitchenette to start on that pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

Finally he speaks, ever the insightful genius: "These're all of me."

"No shit, really? I could've sworn they were all of Betty Crocker."

"That's not funny, Dave."

"Whatever."

He comes over to the kitchenette. Jegus, why does he feel the need to follow you everywhere in here, this place is small enough already. "I mean, they're all really good, but…"

"But what." That was too quick a response, wasn't it?

He hesitates. You think you're imagining the blush creeping up his neck and ears. "…but why're you just taking pictures of me?"

"Why not, you're my bro and I needed a subject."

He's rocking back and forth on his feet now. You fucked this one up. He flips through the photos again, looks up at you again. "…I like them. You're really good at this, Dave."

"Good, now go over to the couch and pose like one of those French girls."

He laughs and gives you back the camera. Sits down and scrutinizes the half eaten bowl of soggy cereal. "I mean, if you ever need help with your photography you can just ask me! Anytime."

You hang the camera around your neck again; just holding it like that makes you nervous. "Not going to run off somewhere, Egbert? Cause then I can kiss this portfolio goodbye like that shit was never even in my darkroom. Just up and flew off."

John leans back in his chair. He knows something, doesn't he. Shit, way to be subtle, Strider. "Are you implying something?"

"Fuck no, what're you even saying, Egbert?"

He gets up again, walks up to you so close you can see the tiny flecks in his irises. One in each eye, just in different places. The right one's a little bigger. "I'm saying you don't have to worry!" he said.

"Does this look like I'm worrying to you," you say, hoping you're giving him a totally straight face.

"Well, can't tell if half of it's covered!" he says, reaching up and lifting your shades off your face, carefully taking them away to reveal your crazy red eyes. Shit, should've expected that.

You look away and resist the temptation to cover them with your hand. Cool guys like you don't shy away about their eye color or shit like that. That's what shades are for. Cool shades. "The fuck, John?"

John just cups your face in his hand and gently turns you back to face him. He's grinning again. "I mean I'm not going anywhere," he said, "So quit trying to hide your eyes like a dope, cool guys own their crazy eyes!"

You stand there for a moment and just look at him. His eyes are pretty natural, still a really weird electric blue, though. You'd miss those eyes. They claim they're not leaving, though. You can work with this.

You're the cool guy, and you do what any cool guy would do in this situation: wrap him up in a big bromantic hug. It's the most bromantic thing in the state, you two should just go take your vows now. And he hugs you back tight, the two of you standing there in your tiny apartment and knowing both of you are quite happy where you are.


End file.
